Beyond this life
by AliSca
Summary: A girl arrives at Castle Duckula. What, in the beginning, seems to be an ordinary meeting, will turn out to be a key, for the Count, to discover something unexpected about his own past life.
1. Chapter 1

_**Premise:** English is not my native language, so please forgive my ineptitude (I must thank a friend for helping me correcting this chapter). I'm not even a writer... I hope you can enjoy the result of my attempts anyhow. _

_All the story's characters belong to Cosgrove Hall, but for Carmen who belongs to me._

_NB: Characters from CD are anthropomorphic birds, but I like and need to imagine them as humans. I thought much about what to do: it's a need for me, but I'm also aware that I'd somehow break the rules and many of you wouldn't appreciate the choice, justly. So, I finally took a decision: I tried to avoid al those specific anatomic descriptions that can lead your imagination. I'm aware that this is a limit for the story, but this way you're also free to imagine the whole thing as you prefer!_

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_Present days._

Igor leaned against the back of the chair, snorting, and nervously scribbled something on a piece of paper, near to a long list of female names, some crossed, some with a question mark.

If he was in that state of boredom, it was only due to the last of his master's bright ideas: finding someone to help Nanny.

Actually Nanny's hard job was the last of the count's interests (let's figure out if he was worried about other people's tiredness, he who not even knew the meaning of the word "work"): given that it was impossible to erase her totally, he would have liked at last to delimit her operating range in the castle. Practically, a retaining manoeuvre disguised as an act of kindness.

Though, Nanny reacted very bad at the idea of a co-worker as well as at the idea of a layoff: dividing _her _work, _her _kitchen, _her _laundry and especially _her Duckyboos_ with a stranger! She was too jealous to accept this! So, after two attempts, failed to the sound of hysterical weeping and actions of protest, the count decided to adopt a new strategy:

"This time we won't tell Nanny that we want another housekeeper: we will introduce the new girl as an old acquaintance or a guest or something, in this way Nanny will be willing to accept her", he told, fluttering about like a crazed marble.

"For this reason the person we will hire will be obviously competent but, at first, affable and patient enough to spend some days with Nanny. They'll chat, they'll drink some coffee… things women do. They'll became friends. And then… we will mouth off a dramatic story: we will tell that the girl lose her job, that she's alone and that accepting her would be a beautiful act of charity! No matter how much it takes! Weeks.. months… years… (what are years when you have a whole eternity of jam in front of you!?)… it doesn't matter! It's a work of patience, Igor! A subtle psychological game! And also think…", he concluded, this time slowly walking to the next room, "Less housework for Nanny, less damages! Less damages, less expenses! Less expenses and therefore more money… money that will largely break even with the expenses for the second housekeeper! Double advantages without a single extra _Ban!"_

And here he was, Igor, for the third useless time, at the end of a useless evening entirely sacrificed for some useless job interview.

He shook his head: "became friends… psychological game…". He stood there for a while staring at the void, ruminating on that pathetic puerile exaltation of his ego and his ideas, that attachment to the profit, that cold ungratefulness for his loyal servants: in certain moments the present count looks to him even more deceitful than his predecessors!

He breathed deeply, he straightened himself on the chair and with resignation resumed to examine the list of the potential martyrs-to-be.

There hadn't been much subscription, just as at the previous attempts: fifteen names.

Fourteen, to be precise, if you keep out a blatant Goosewing dressed like a maid.

Fourteen women, as far all incompetents and slackers who evidently weren't able to find a job anywhere else: in spite of everything still people didn't like to accept offers from a Duckula and the only ones were lost cases or at most crazy vampire-hunters! He smirked.

Only two interviews and than he would have finished; relieved, both at this thought and at the precedent one, he cracked his spine and invited the next one to enter.

"Ah! And, if possible, a good appearance one. Try to take out something good, for once, Igor!», finally have added the Count. Well, he simply would have chose the bothersome, ugliest and useless one, as always: the Master himself would have fired her in less days' time.

That story of a second housekeeper had to stop as soon as possible and definitely: a stranger, maybe meddling, maybe gossipy, going around in the castle setting eyes on past secrets and present dishonours… it was not appropriate.

The door of the old room, that had to vaguely look like an office, opened and a girl entered; she must have been in her twenty-five. A natural woman, no-frills, dark blond wavy hair, lighter on the bottom. She greeted, closed the door again, set down and looked straight in the butler's eyes with a well-disposed expression, waiting for the first question; she not even held her hand to introduce herself.

«So», Igor cleared his voice «you must be…»

«Carmen Florintele»

«Oh, yes. Here you are!», he told repeatedly tapping the pen on her printed name.

He perfectly knows which was her name: he'd read it before. He did that gesture only to glance down having a leg to stand on: what the hell has he got?

That improper-mannered girl seems to have caught him unprepared. Actually she had a calm and sunny behaviour and her beauty was common (not that he was interested in women's beauty, anyway, if he'd have to judge in a pinch, she not even was his kind), she not even seemed the provoking or asserting one.

She didn't do nothing particular: provably it had been a joke of his mind! But why?

She simply looked at him and immediately a fire grew up hard from his chest till his cheek. Did he blush? That would have been _ridiculous_! And being ridiculous was one of the things that he most hated. He wasn't the kind of man… he was the one who's pupils were avoided from everyone! He was the one who used to look in the eyes of the Master of Evil! And she was a young lady! A mere insignificant mortal! All that was extremely humiliating! And senseless! And _unacceptable_!

He gritted his teeth. The tip of the pen was heavily pressed down on the paper, next to the girl's name, ready to trace a nice line and eliminate her immediately from his existence.

There was only one problem remaining: he wasn't able to overlook unacceptable things.

The things that burned were also the one that intrigued him more… and that one had burned like hell, indeed!

"No", he said to himself "Little Carmen, darling, you are not thinking I'll let you leave so peacefully and safe, are you?".

He not even managed to finish the thought that the nagging tension he felt in his wrists before, changed into a sort of new energy. He savoured the sensation for a moment: it was pleasant!

Igor eased the pen on the paper and slightly lift up the left corner of his mouth.

How many time had passed since the last time he found a mortal _pleasant_? Or better, since the last time he considered one of them as an occasion for plotting something _evil_, instead than a simple hassle? After all that fire in his cheeks was really that much annoying? Maybe he accustomed too much to perceiving mortals only as individuals better to be steering clear of! He forgot that the woman who was sitting in front of him was, at first, a natural spring of the most precious nectar. And at that point, what harm was there in his quivering? On thinking it over she never caused him any subjection: it was a desire that, leaping suddenly out of the oblivion, caught him unaware!

He set down the pen and turn back on her face, this time with pluck and curiosity.

He felt younger than before.

«Tell me, why did you answered to this job offer? Do you think you have the right qualities? Did you do some job experience?»

«Well, I worked for some restaurant and hotels, and… look, I brought my curriculum», she took some stapled paper from a binder an she put them on the desk. There were the most disparate occupations: restaurants, pubs, music lessons, children tutoring… she did a bit of everything.

Among other things he found an appreciable "supermarket, butchery department" but he visibly rose his eyebrows on a "thanato-cosmetics".

«Yes, I know that there are also strange things!», said Carmen giggling «actually making up the deads was less heavy than serving some kind of pups in the pubs!»

Then, turning more serious:

«I left home when I was sixteen. I had some money, but the expenses were too heavy… actually, some of those jobs didn't suit to me, but in some way I had to get by. They're all brief experiences – you know how difficult is to find a long open-ended contract today -, but after all, it wasn't bad: I learn the art of changing, adapting myself, managing home, etcetera… and I think those are the real important properties for a person searching for a job», explained the girl with a delicate, young and mellow voice.

Igor looked at her hands: indeed those fingers didn't seem totally committed to laziness and hedonism. She put on some light nail polish but without paying attention on distributing it impeccably and the nails were short; he entertained himself for a moment imagining them while doing butcher job and touching the skin of a corpse.

«I see from you curriculum – and it is also audible on you inflection – that you lived in Italy for long time…»

«Yes. I was born around here, but my parents decided to move in Italy when I was very young. We used to speak Romanian at home… it comes naturally to me to do it»

«You told you left home when you was sixteen. If I'm not wrong the legal age in Italy is eighteen, just like here. That means you were in a hurry. Why? Something bad happened at home?». She suddenly turned serious, than glanced down. He knew it wasn't a likeable topic: he just desired to play with her and evidently he guessed the right question.

«Somebody used to hurt you?», he pressed with impassive voice.

«…». In that silence there was the answer. Her eyes looked even more down, on the golden lock of hair she was curling around a finger.

It may prompt to ask why she was still sitting here, rather than out of the room after having slammed the door. Determination? It seemed impossible that she desired that job so bad! Maybe frailty: she was unable to make herself respected. Or better again, she was trying to show herself firm and proud.

She opened her mouth with a breath, like if she was going to explain, but Igor stepped-in: «What drove you on coming back to Transylvania?». It was sufficient and maybe even funnies to leave her in that embarrassing non-answer.

«Often I dreamed about escaping here. I've always felt a strong attraction for my place of origin, very strong», she answered with a delicate melancholic tone, always looking down on her own hands. «I came back with my family less times and for less days, but it was enough to made me fall in love. I can remember the first time. I was a child. We came for the Orthodox Easter: I was enchanted by all that intense colours, the woman in costume, the decorated eggs, the music, the dances, the medieval sanctuaries, that majestic and sacred atmosphere, those repetitive melodies that made you fly away… … and the lifestyle, the simplicity of the people: I was a child, maybe I wasn't still aware of the condition of struggle and poverty, it all seemed like a dream for me, like a time-travelling! And the nature: the horses in the wild, the hills covered of woods, unlimited and uncontaminated, the dark shape of the mountains in the night, lightened only by the stars and moon. And this castle! How much I would have liked to visit it! My parents wouldn't and I cried so hard!»

She turned to the left while narrating, toward the glass window. The coloured panes captured the oblique rays of the not even set sun, proposing them again saturated of red, orange and worm yellow on her face. While she was searching for the words, she looked like cheering up little by little in them.

«I can see conserved in these places many precious things that somewhere else are lost, completely forgotten. It looks like if the trees, the walls, the streets, the people… everything hold them tight, like if they wanted to protect them! It seems that you can hear the sound of the history, smell the odour of the past. And I know I sound anachronistic, but…»

While she was talking about the past, to Igor too it seems to jump back. Behind her thick and coloured frames she almost looked like one of those young peasants of the gone times.

Oh… yes… He was able to imagine her while lifting up the face from the field and straightening her spine, with the sweaty forehead, the dirty apron and the prosperous beauty. Just like those ladies of the past: cheerful and genuine in their unpretentious living, beautiful while dreaming, mute and proud when he used to have them over a barrel.

He was able to see an energetic, appetizing Transylvanian female… born in the wrong century.

She wore a white blouse, simple but well refined in Sangallo lace, with a boat neckline that let half-view two fair rounded pulpy shoulders. She'd got a noteworthy skin, compact and uniform and smelled fresh: it lied with elegance over the wave of the clavicles, to climb up than smooth and delicate, drawing the delicious curves of her throat. A well-proportioned neck, even more enhanced by the lack of ornaments: only some curly golden lock delicately leaned over it. Who know how must it be to the touch… Igor swallowed: it must have been so soft and warm over the fingers, and…

«Sorry?» Carmen's voice, a bit higher than before, woke him up. «I'm so sorry for all this speech! Really! But when I talk about these things… I'm so sorry, I…»

«Oh no! No! you don't need to apologize! On the contrary, your telling was so interesting that while listening I was carried away by some… ehrm… childhood memories.

You know what? You perfectly seized on the essence of this land! Lightweight inflection apart, I would say that you are more Transylvanian than the Transylvanian women themselves!»

«Really? Probably I've got it in my blood!»

Igor noisily got up from the chair:

«See you tomorrow evening, at ten: you are hired!»

_...to be continued..._

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_Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

It's nearly ten pm. A black shape is moving in Castle Duckula; with slow and regular clip is walking towards a secondary entrance, where a young lady waits.

Igor knows that convening a new hire by that time was quite unusual, but he wanted to take the count far from her for a little: he needed to take a time to measure and work on her a bit. That was the best time: lately the count used to shot himself in his room for a reading after dinner and Nanny was already sleeping.

He justified the choice to the girl telling that there where many things to explain and show before beginning the real job, that he was always very busy during the day and that doing it in the evening, in front of a cup of coffee, would have been easier and more enjoyable. He also touched on that question about Nanny. He didn't know which else motivation to give, out of hand.

Yet apparently he was worrying for nothing: she accepted without asking for further explanations, with an expression on her face that seemed to say: "well, I understood that this won't be the last of the eccentricities… I like it!".

Another detail contributing on making her appear interesting.

Interesting for what, then, he not even know. He was entertaining to think about how to make use of her, but he not even come to a precise conclusion.

After all she had been hired only due to a spur of the moment, to what her evocative features had reminded to him, made him desire, imagine... precisely like in the best of times, when he met the perfect victim by the road side! He was able to recognise the perfect one, the desired one in a thousand. He certainly would have captured her, if he'd seen her some century before, hauled her to castle and imprisoned her, waiting for his master's awakening, just to enjoy his approval, just for the pleasure of seeing that particular dart of ferocious avidity shining in his bloodthirsty eyes. Ah! How much she'd have been relished! Certainly, they'd have drenched their pointy nose into the air, filled by her young flesh and blood's aroma in that way he remembered so well, and begun to devour her with their imagination and gaze, even before than with their lips.

That wonderful shining in his previous masters' eyes was priceless and often it was the greatest and only privilege granted to him: though they let him shearing in everything, they also had a sort of modesty about the moment they nourished. Not all of them but the majority.

The most precious and sublime instant… for some of them it deserved to be kept secret.

And he'd always accepted it.

However, on some occasion, being on a fortunate situation and position, he spied. Better not to think of what they would have done if they'd found him, they would have been even more cruel than usually, since the culprit was their faithful servant. Being aware of their cynicism - so pitiless insomuch it seemed ingenuous - and conscious of what they were capable of, it was even worst to imagine! But that was so overwhelming! That scenes… maybe they were the most invaluable just because they were forbidden. How much he missed them!

But now that was enough! That was the right time: he felt it and he was determined to pretend it and achieve it, by any means and with pure egoistic spirit. For once!

The count… _that_ count sinking his fangs into that girl's neck… that was his vision and he would have reach it!

He just needed a break, for once! For _one single time_, damn it! Did he ask too much?! The count _never_ did it since the moment he brought him back to life, whereas _he_ sacrificed his happiness, he respectfully bored _for all those years_! No, that was it! This time he didn't want to preoccupy too much! Actually, that flesh looked so toothsome that maybe there wasn't even need to be a vampire to desire giving it a bite. But his master was a hard case. He won't be able to convince him, indeed, he knows! Well, he would have forced him. It remained to be seen how.

The first thought went to that "milk" with whom Goosewing once transformed him in a wicked individual. If it didn't end well it was only due to the lack of preparation: after all who can expect such an effect from a breakfast? What a pity! The sun shining high, Goosewing around, him in dishonourable condition and, most important thing, lack of raw material in the right place and moment. But that time… He could thanks that brilliant vampire hunter for procuring him the idea. He was sure he worked on that formula for a period, but than he abandoned it: why? He wasn't able to reproduce it? Maybe the right moment to pick it up again had come.

He climbed down to the lab. The notebook he was searching for was right there in the place he remembered. He wiped the thick brown cover and cheered up smelling the perfume of old paper and leather. Opening it, a shiver of excitement went straight to his spine: the notes were all there, they looked at him, only waiting to reveal the secret and fulfil his desires.

He passed on the papers and smiled when his eye felt upon some consideration of a macabre irony, written here and there in his own hand. Instead he felt a certain annoyance realizing he was being a bit slow on orienting in the middle of those formulas. His store of knowledge was still intact, he knew what's what about alchemy, medicine, occultism… and yet he lost a bit of sheen. What was he making of his interest and of himself? For a moment he felt bad, imagining himself as a doddering old man. Better to get on with the reading!

He found an highlight note which said: _"Interesting indeed, but do it solve the problem?"_. There! That's why he stopped, maybe: probably his intention was to make the effect definitive, but he realized he couldn't do in no way. The thing did not particularly touched him: after all he didn't want nothing more than giving himself a treat for once. That potion was exactly what he needed. He felt traversed by a negative sensation: was he so stupid to dump it there in that way and for that stupid reason? Bah! It was still an interesting research! Now he had to start all over again and to gain further time. He sneered a bit and impatiently leaf through for a little while yet, without really reading, just to see to what point he came.

After a ten of pages the research interrupted.

At the end of all there was another note, even more highlight than the other: "_do it solve __**YOUR**__ problem?_". Under it some desperate thought.

Igor stared at that _"YOUR",_ written in big bold capital letters.

There. That's why he stopped. He felt an heart pang.

It was so obvious, how could have he forgot about it? He repressed the thought.

The lively flame of his excitement bended and totally extinguished, chocked by the reality, leaving him shrouded in a lazy cloud of smoke and ash.

He could have found the way to extend the duration of the effect, he could have even spend the rest of his whole existence producing that substance and injecting it to the count during his sleep, he could have maintained him in that state forever and rejoice every single night of his eternal life, but without finding peace.

The count who would not kill, nor drink blood or want to hear a thing about evil… was deplorable and made him so angry, but still was not what corroded and lacerated the deepness of his own being.

The guilt. The guilt was the incandescent blade that tormented his conscience: _he_ was the origin of that aberration, _he_ was the cause, _he _was the loser, _he_ deserved to be taunted. His master's face was nothing but the reflection of his fault: the true ghost was in his brain and there it would have remained. Unless the count would have _chosen_ the darkness… than the whole thing would have made sense. A reversed redemption. A conversion to the Evil. It would have been the only solution.

Yet it seemed impossible. Impossible! And if…? - He not even had the courage to think about it - If the count would have been killed while being in that state… that was the most crashing possibility… and the risk was not far away! The guilt would have become an indelible mark, following him for the rest of his life.

He stared at the papers in silence.

Those thoughts! He only would rejoice for a moment but here they were. They never let him in peace. Coming after the sweet taste of his cogitations, the truth seemed more bitter and more intolerable than ever. Now he felt even more loser, discovering himself in his projecting planes of self deceive: drip, he would have been, as well as guilty. Irresponsible. Incapable of face reality.

All those thought weighed down the gray butler to the floor and if they didn't bring tears in his eyes was only because they had made him lifeless: too icily lifeless to cry.

Why should he always fall back into this!? He was so determined not to let himself bring away from the usual depressive circle, while now he was there with the glance lost in the void and the worst of the possible state of minds.

He stood up and violently closed the book, rising an old dust puff.

The girl was hired, by now, and she certainly would have not gone to waste… at last, not unharmed. He lifted up the corner of his mouth, in a self confident evil half-smile: he still had his macabre sense of humour and still had intention to make a good use of her body. But it wasn't like before any more.

In the spectral silence of the long corridor the butler's steps reverberated slow and regular like clock hands. They articulated the last instants of Carmen's normal life.

He opened the door. She was there, waiting for him, this time with a polo-neck purple shirt that gave the extra touch to Igor's melancholy.

Now that the whole thing was veiled of sadness, he not even knew why she made him feel so upset the evening before. The coloured thick frames and the gracefully fluttering mane, the light pink lipstick, they bothered him so much, now! She seemed to him no more than one of the many mortals… and of the worst species, in the bargain: a modern girl.

He showed her in, closed the door noisily sliding the heavy bolts and giving several turns. "That's it. There's no turning back", he thought, than he put the keys in his pocket. They were heavy.

«Good evening. Follow me, please».

Nothing else came out from his mouth: an ounce of courteousness plus would have served the purpose of establishing an advantageous confidential atmosphere, but he wasn't accustomed to reception and chatting, in and of himself and, in that precise moment, he wasn't absolutely on the right mood to strive for trying. He proceeded without talking, there'd been time for that, till later, at the table.

He wanted to enjoy for a while yet the absence of words. The shadows, the dark and cold walls with their smell of rock, the echo of the steps and the damp air: only in this he wanted to remain immersed, whereas: «That's wonderful!», she barged.

"Seriously. Why still didn't I grab you by the hair and crash your face against the wall?! There really was _need_ to open your mouth for such an idiotic statement?", he would have answered, but held down and sarcastically said:

«This corridor?»

It actually looked like more a mine tunnel than a corridor. It was a deep cavity, carved in the dark rock of the Carpathians. Cold, humid and smelling of moss, the typical smell of a subterranean place; hanging on the ceiling some old lamps drew faint arcs of lurching light, underlining even more the oppressing lowness of the coarse ceiling, weakly running after each other in a prospective game, before finally loosing themselves in a black void.

Let's say that it was dreadful!

"Wonderful"... Of course, for him it was! But, coming out of her girly mouth, that really seemed an idiotic statement!

«Ah ah! You're right!», she sniggered while shacking her head «I haven't been believable. But I was sincere, I swear! The fact is that with "wonderful" I didn't mean refined or pretty. No offense, but sure is not a _pretty _place». She felt silent and, slackening her pace, looked deep down the tunnel, like if the dark non-end could show her the rest of the discourse: «I consider wonderful everything that moves something inside me. Beautiful things are able to do it, but also the ones that frighten you a bit. Like the fire, the deepness of the see, the unknown places, the storm… you can feel so pleased because of their perfection, but also so little and defenceless because of their indomitable power. And this is magnificent!»

"Now this sound smarter", thought Igor, still resting in silence, trying to understand if she was telling something sensible or just trying to save the previous overstatement.

They deviated in a corridor on the right. It was a real corridor, this time: almost bare, but ampler and filled by a drier air. Over the walls of brick hanged some picture, very well painted, characterized by a sombrely visionary style, quite similar to Füssli's one. They were in the young master's bedroom once, but he told he couldn't fall asleep with that "horrific visions hanging on the wall" and bothered Igor so much about it that he decided to remove them and bring them in that service corridor. Her big nut-brown eyes started running jauntily from one to another and it looked like they were sincerely captured.

«You see?», she continued than dreamy, like if the pictures themselves had suggested it to her, «That's exactly the peculiarity of this castle, on my opinion: it has the both kinds of beauty; seen from the village it is amazing, from an architectural viewpoint, and incumbent in an emotive sense. The interior! I visited only less of it for now, at the job interview, but I found it both elegant and… dark and terrifying, still no offense. You can glance superficially on each object and marvel for how precious it is and than gaze more closely and realize that it is in some way disturbing, just like these pictures, isn't it? This place is alive in some way, it have a personality, a tormented soul within. It is all magnificent and upsetting!».

She suddenly felt silent and then, with a fainter tone of voice, like if she was a bit ashamed of what she'd told a moment before, continued: «Sorry if it seems I exaggerate, but this is what I feel, sincerely. Maybe it's because this castle's image remained impressed in my mind when I was a child: I used to watch it from the foot of the mountain and stargaze, and now that I'm finally here it is… it is strange. As far as I can see, you work in this place since many years and I don't blame you if you think I'm childish».

«I work in Castle Duckula from many years», was Igor's answer. Judging by the conciseness of his voice's tone it seemed he would shut down the issue and actually he was bent on doing that, but that topic cut him to the quick. "I know, my dear. Iperfectly know what you mean!", he would have told. Actually her observation wasn't out of place. "Each room, each furniture, each brick of the castle had taken part in a so much great quantity of unspeakable facts that now is soaked of it. The whole place unleashes viciousness! It scents of it! So awful and magnificent!". Instead:

«I work here from many, many years, but this castle's always able to surprise me» he said, «therefore I don't consider you childish if you remain impressed. And I perfectly understand what kind of impression are you talking about». How irresistible was for him to talk about the castle and about how it was glorious! «You know? Not many people is of the same mind, around here», he continued.

«You're right! I saw it myself: every time I asked about the castle they told me to forget it or that the owner was unwilling about visitors or…»

«Ah! That's ridiculous!» interrupted Igor, «The counts always had a special _taste_ for guests!»

Carmen kept quiet but couldn't contain an amusingly bemused expression of her face, noting the weird, allusive accent on the word "taste". Maybe it was better not to let slip those kind of witty remarks.

«They use to speak ill of this family, to which I'm very attached. I don't like their behaviour! That's why I seemed a bit abrupt, maybe. I'm sure they did it also this time, with you! Bah! I cannot even imagine what they made up! Foolishness!»

«Oh, well, some mysterious speech… nothing clear at all, to tell the truth. I told them that they obtained nothing but make me more curious!», shrugged off the girl.

At the end of the corridor there was the flight of stairs that finally led them up to destination: a very little sitting room, next to the kitchen.

Igor switched on the light and a warm, dim, artificial glow spread in the room. There were three dull greenish armchairs, set around to a small wooden table with a whitish doily in the centre; a visibly timeworn but well made showcase that, judging by the way it was carved, probably came from the Maramureș zone, as well as the embroidered linen awnings, that framed and gave a touch of loveliness to the weathered and rustic window. Everything was dated and homely, but clean and agreeable. It was the best he had been able to do to make the place comfortable for a woman, considering the lack of material, time and taste.

«Would you like a coffee?»

«Yes, thank you»

«I'll be right here in a moment, the moka's already prepared»

Igor went to the kitchen and turned on the cooker.

Even if the voice of his integrity was already threateningly rising, he neither could nor would negate it: he was feeling better after that short talking with the girl. There was nothing to do: that was the truth. Even the thought of torturing her was no more amusing, now. And it wasn't pity! It was something between a feeling of sympathy and the desire to obtain more than a simple distraction; cheering sensations of empathy and wicked inspirations.

The very voice of that regularly vitriolic integrity that helped him to survive for all those years, to keep on trying in spite of everything, now was bothering him like an oppressive litany.

Not the curious attraction was blurring his sight, although, paradoxically, his own frames of mind. He didn't know the whys and the wherefore, but that meeting moved something in his subconscious and made him remember forgotten things about himself and who he was: a creative, an ambitious… one who was able to seize the day, to plot with slyness, to push himself above the line. Wasn't on that foundation that the Duckula's empire rose? Didn't he became what he was thanks to those things? Indeed he did! Surely not thanks to his hateful rigidity.

Once he hit the mark, through the centuries, he let himself go. He used to torture people, to participate to his lord's misdeeds – and it was funny, because it was a different story with all of them -, to live uncountable adventures and vicissitudes… It was beautiful, but he didn't do something really creative and revolutionary no more – well, apart from giving life to the first vegetarian vampire in the history, curses! - . He was too gratified to hearken to new ambitions, too carful on protecting what he has to run new risks.

He recalled the beginning of everything, when his knowledge grew up exponentially, nourished by the morbid obsession for his purposes, when nothing seemed impossible: those were the best of times, the maximum glory! And he was only a mere mortal, at that far away time!

The coffee was gaily boiling in the upper part of the moka and a steaming perfumed vapour was coming out from the nozzle.

Igor lifted up his head, opening his eyes wide and, for a moment, perceived the fear and the beauty of the vertigo: his brain had just been shot by the most idiotic and genial idea of the last century!

A broad grin cut through his face.

He poured the dark drink in two little cups, take the tray and went to the other room, content to continue the conversation with Carmen.

«Ah! I forgot to say that they also tell about you!», she said.

«The villagers? And what did they tell?»

«Ah ah! I don't know if I must report! Nothing banal, anyway»

«Well, I'm pleased for that!», replied the butler with an amused crooked smile while closing the door.

Their voices get lost behind the walls of the little room. Into the dark night everything was sleeping.


	3. Chapter 3

_I apologize again for my english (I'm not a native) and for my writing skills (I'm not even a writer). I hope you can enjoy the story anyway._

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It was a gray, drowsy morning. Far-back a subtle, light but constant rain was caressing the Carpathian Mountains, the dark summit which rose shined by the rain, surrounded by lower and nebulous a long hot summer like the one just passed, the inhabitants of those lands embraced the first rains of autumn as a pleasant relief: their agreeable freshness, their relaxing pattering on the roofs, their lively perfume of moss, bark and leafs stolen from the boundless expanses of forest that yet were magnificently painting of orange, yellow and red… how beautiful was the Transylvanian autumn! Though, now, after days and days of water, everything was literally soggy and the people wasn't able to see nothing but the penetrating humidity and the monochromatic greyness of the sky.

That very monochromatism welcomed the Count at his awakening. From the window of his high bedroom he couldn't see nothing but that and he was observing it while staying in bed with the blanket stretched till the half of his face.  
_*knock knock*  
_«Milord…» the door opened slowly, «Milord, it's nearly eleven and it's a wonderful day»  
«Wonderful… wonderful day!? Did you watch out of the window, Igor?», complained his voice, coming out stifled by the duvet, «And do you know how many months of cold, fog and draughts are in store for us? How can you call this day _wonderful_?», he felt silent for a moment, than restarted «Ah! And you know what's more? Today is the first of October and this reminds me that you'll soon begin to bother me with the preparation for your beloved Halloween. I can't stand it! I can't do it! Don't ask me to come out of the bed in this condition!»  
«But sir, you can't stay here in bed all the day!»  
«I can't stay… Well! That's nice! Weren't you the one who used to press me to sleep in daylight – as long as you can call this day_light - ? _For once I'm doing something vampire-like and you still complain!»  
«In this case… it means I will give to Towser your steaming breakfast that was just coming out of the kitchen». The butler didn't receive any answer, but was able to see a shine of interest in the couple of eyes surfacing from the blanket: leaving the warmth of the bed was an unpleasant idea, anyway his stomach was beginning to let his voice be heard and the thought of a warm breakfast was inviting.  
«…what a pity! There were some culinary news too and…», continued Igor.  
«Well, actually I'm feeling a bit angry», finally answered the Count, a little fed up for pleasing Igor. «Can you, at last, tell to the breakfast to come here? Pander to me Igor, the world is just so cold and hostile out there!», he whined.  
«Oh! Come on, get ready! You won't regret it!»  
«Igor!»  
«But Milord! I ensure- »  
«Can you tell me where's the concept unclear? I am the employer, you're the employee. I desire to receive my breakfast in my room, you bring it to me! What's the matter?»  
«As you wish, Milord, I'll sent you your breakfast immediately», he finally obeyed leaving the room.

«_But Milord… You won't regret it!_», grumbled the Count hitting off his servant's voice, «What on earth did he put on that breakfast, so special as to bug me like this!? The head of the milkman? Better not to think about it».  
He remained there watching the ceiling for about ten minutes, than finally he heard the sweet knocking of his warm breakfast. He set up a little. The breakfast knocked again but didn't made up its mind to enter. "Than, Nanny waiting at the door instead of tearing it down, what's with everyone today?", he wandered losing a bit of patience.  
«Come in!» he exhorted, «the door is open and my stomach is wait- Wait! Wait! Wait! Keep out!» he yelled panicked: it wasn't Nanny at the door but rather a woman he'd never seen before.  
«Okay, tell me when I must enter», she answered remaining behind the door, with a shy voice.  
What a melodious voice… it seemed to be young. Why Igor didn't warn him about her presence? Three weeks had passed since the days of those famous job interviews and, not having heard a word about them, the Count presumed that the whole matter was gone into the air.  
Well, that was no time to wonder about Igor's motivations: there was a young lady behind the door and… and he was wearing a pyjama! He was totally ridiculous!  
He quickly got changed, he combed his hair with his fingers and rubbed his face – he could not even wash it! How embarrassing! – he slightly opened the window, somehow tidied the bed and hid his teddy bear under the pillow.  
«Ehm… do come in», he said with a forcedly relaxed tone, browsing an agenda picked up at random from the desk, just to show he hadn't loafed about till that moment. «Excuse me for this inconvenience, I mean for my request for having breakfast in my room. You know, I usually come down early, but this time… I had to stay awake late yesterday night, you know, responsibility, troubles… than this caused a terrible headache and..».  
«There's no problem» with a slightly flickering voice «Where can I put the tray?», she asked standing still in the middle of the room. She was dressed just alike Nanny, from top to toe, but the outfit, reshaped over that beautiful well-proportioned body, seemed even to be nicer.  
«Put it up there, please», he answered pointing out a desk, on the right side of the bed. Just a moment after he realized he would have given a better impression if he would have taken and put it down on his own. «Leave it, I do it», he said stretching out his hands but the tray was already on the desk.  
He couldn't not notice the light tinkling of the ceramic wares when he tried to approach: her arms had slightly trembled. She looked very tensed, "Igor didn't tell her something terrible about me, did he?" . It was worth trying to put the girl at her ease: «Take a seat, please. Would you like something to eat?»  
«Oh, no no! Thanks!», she answered surprised and a bit clumsy.  
«Are you sure you don't want to… well, take a sit anyway, so we can talk a little».  
She did it, almost without taking his eyes off the count.  
«What's you name? Tell me about yourself»  
«Carmen Florintele, I'm- »  
«Oh! Carmen, beautiful name! I can simply call you by name, can I? Miss Florintele sounds formal»  
«Sure», she said with a timid hint of a smile.  
«You see, Carmen, I know that these are your first days of work and I can imagine that working for a personality, owner of a castle, can be embarrassing», told the count spilling a massive quantity of muesli in the milk, «and also I know that people uses to badmouth about personalities, but you must overlook what they say, really! I'm a normal person and here we're like a big family» and he swallowed a spoonful of food, «actually, it's not very big since we're three… well, let's say four, considering Nanny's mass! Eh eh!» and down another spoonful «Actually, Igor too can be worth twice sometimes, but… Hey! This muesli is tastier than usual! Yet is look the same as ever!», he declared approaching his eyes to the food.  
He stood still for a moment and than «Just a minute» he said turning serious, «the muesli… the milk… Who… Who gave you the milk!?»  
«Igor gave me, why?» answered the girl fill with wonder.  
Duckula's face turned deathly pale, even more than it already naturally was  
«I knew there was something unclear! It can't be! How could he do a thing like that?» whispered to himself watching his trembling hands, paralyzed by terror. Carmen slightly moved forward, intending to say or do something to calm down the Count but, at her movement, he leaped to his feet and recoiled. «I knew! Ah!» he cried out. His voice had become huskier and deeper, quite as if it was going to turn into a roar «I knew! You must go… ah! I'm changing! I can feel I'm changing!»  
The girl bent backward still sitting on the chair, she looked at him bewildered for a moment and than grasped: «Aaah! Ah ah! I know what's different, you can keep quiet!»  
«What?» wheezed the vampire with his eyes still open wide.  
«There isn't any piece of carton!»  
«Oh, there isn't any- WHAT!» he yelled regaining his usual voice  
«Nanny used to mince it and mix it with the muesli»  
«Do you mean I ate carton for all this time? You've no idea how many times I told her it's inedible! Here's why there was always that cellulose aftertaste!», he observed while sitting and recomposing himself. He'd probably looked a fool but, _gee!_ Thank goodness nothing serious happened! He used to feel into panic each time his milk and muesli had an unusual flavour, since that accident who turned him into a cruel creature. On the other hand that poor figure wasn't that negative, at all: the girl looked more relaxed now.  
«It took two week, but finally I convinced her not to mix it»  
«Only two weeks? Two weeks are few, considering Nanny's learning ability. How did you do that!?»  
«Well, actually I didn't. I couldn't convince her that the carton is inedible, but I persuaded her that, if the package is originally separated from the contents, so it must also be eaten separately. Do you see that bowl?» she asked pointing out a desk with a little mountain of brownish scraps on it, «that's minced carton, I convinced her to serve it apart», she raised an eyebrow «I think I made her even more confused than she already is, so I don't know if I did wrong. At any rate you didn't eat carton today».  
«I can't believe… I just can't believe! You are a genius!», the Count took the bowl in his hands and analyzed it incredulously «This also means that Nanny approved you!»  
«It seems so. Igor talked to me about the problem immediately after the job interview, but it wasn't difficult at last. Now, I don't want to crow prematurely, but I think it is sufficient for me not to appear too know-it-all or overbearing. As far as I can see she works here from many years and I understand if she doesn't want to feel outclassed. I do things as she teach me, even if the common sense would suggest me to do the opposite, and with the passing of time I obtain little victories. I happen to do crazy things, it's funny! Like wearing this, for example», she lifted up an arm showing a sling, identical to Nanny's one; he was so accustomed to see that outfit that he didn't notice it before. «It's not broken, but she likes if I wear it every now and then… oh! Talking of broken things…», she exclaimed jumping up, «I must save the glasses! Nanny washed the glassware and she was hanging out it like laundry… may I go, please? Those pegs looked strong but…», the Count dismissed her and than stood there, motionless, gawping the void, feeling a bit like his breakfast that was slowly reducing to a mush, in front of him.  
He didn't feel like wondering why does Igor – the bitterness' lover, the paladin of gloominess, the nemesis of sentimentalism… the cemeterical Igor – has had the good taste to introduce in the castle a ray of light like that. She was there, she talked to him, she prepared his breakfast… later he would have investigate, for the moment he just wanted to melt down in those thoughts, like muesli in the hot milk.

_... to be continued..._

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_Thanks for reading_


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